Cracking dialogue, compelling illogic and unchained whimsy' Sunday Times
The Discworld is very much like our own - if our own were to consist of a flat planet balanced on the back of four elephants which stand on the back of a giant turtle, that is . . .
Death comes to us all. When he came to Mort, he offered him a job.
Death is the Grim Reaper of the Discworld, a black-robed skeleton carrying a scythe who must collect a minimum number of souls in order to keep the momentum of dying, well . . . alive.
He is also fond of cats and endlessly baffled by humanity. Soon Death is yearning to experience what humanity really has to offer . . . but to do that, he'll need to hire some help.
It's an offer Mort can't refuse. As Death's apprentice he'll have free board, use of the company horse - and being dead isn't compulsory. It's a dream job - until Mort falls in love with Death's daughter, Ysabell, and discovers that your boss can be a killer on your love life . . .
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